The Haunting of The Grey Herald
by Kisaoda
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow and league must conflict with an infamous ghost ship which threatens the safety of he and his friends.
1. Prologue

**__**

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Haunting of TheGrey Herald

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Prologue

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"D'Breas! Twenty degrees starboard! Keep that wind on our back!" 

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

The wind snapped and pulled at the sails as TheGrey Herald _slipped through the water, turning Eastward toward Santo Domingo. Its five masts were plenty to catch enough wind to push along its ninety gun hull. A mighty vessel indeed; large enough to intimidate all pirate ships in sight, making some think twice before plundering. Worthy of its name, _The Grey Herald_ was doused entirely in grey wash, giving it a pale look of death, heralding in a message of imminent defeat of any smuggler or pirate who chanced to take it on. It truly was the pride of the Caribbean Navy of the Empire. _

Standing on the bow, Captain Edmond James Dunhar gazed outward at the island of Puerto Rico slowly expanding on the horizon. His aqua blue eyes stood out against his grey captain's uniform (even though most captains wore blue, Sector Admiral Whitmore had approved his request, deeming it "fitting" for his ship). His head of short, brown hair was covered by the white wig of his status. A man of a lean stature, he was no less intimidating, for his gaze could pierce the toughest of hearts. 

Froth and mist sprayed over the railing, splashing against Dunhar, and the creaking of the bow's wooden structure against the continuous ramming of the waves filled his ears. He was not worried however; she had seen many skirmishes in her time and could endure many more. Her time, however, was about to end though. Retirement at this age upset Dunhar extremely. It was neither his nor The Grey Herald's_ time to quit, he thought, yet he accepted it with a strained grace. _

"Ah, oh well," he sighed underneath his breath, "I shall soon see you again, my love...I am all too willing to throw this life away for you."

**

Sector Admiral Whitmore sat in his office near the harbor of Santo Domingo. The constant smell of the sea filled his room. Dusk was approaching and The Grey Herald _was nowhere to be seen, as it should have been in dock hours ago. This buzzed in his head as he finished his day's report log. Looking up from his parchment, Whitmore glanced out the window next to his desk, viewing the harbor for any sign of Captain Dunhar's arrival. Nothing._

His thoughts constricted as a knock came to his door, "Come," he said, straightening up and setting his quill into the ink jar. The door opened and an officer with a red uniform stepped into the room. 

"No need for formalities, Reedman," spoke Whitmore before the officer could salute, 

"What news from the docks?"

Reedman shifted and glanced, "We have word of a raid just outside port, sir…."

A pause.

"Yes? And?"

"It involved The Grey Herald_, sir. We believe she…that she went down."_

Whitmore seemed to stare past Officer Reedman, through the door and into the open space beyond, "Went down, you say?" he spoke slowly, trying to comprehend the unexpected loss. "What of the crew?"

"No news as of yet, sir. Although…we fear that there are no survivors. The attack was done by several pirate vessels. Commodore Reys has already left to investigate, although he fears it is too late." Reedman coughed nervously and continued to look down.

"And of Captain Dunhar?"

"As I said, sir…no survivors are to be expected. However, I wish to note that I hope all is well with them."

"I see…," whispered Whitmore. He looked back to Reedman and spoke in as normal a voice as he could, "Thank you. You may leave…I shall make all due arrangements and precautions."

Reedman began to salute, caught himself, and then awkwardly shifted around to leave the room, closing the door behind him. 

Alone again, Whitman slumped in his leather seat, covering his face with his hands. Even though he was considered a senior by youths, his attitude and spark for life had not withered away like his body. Tonight, however, his insides felt just as rotten as his outside, for he knew that there were no survivors of The Grey Herald_. He had made sure of that._

A/N—I know, I know…this may seem like just another PotC "sequel". I'm fully aware that there are two more movies to come with Captain Jack Sparrow and friends, so let's call this a…side-adventure of great magnitude, eh? I intend to stick with the canon of the characters in the movie (perhaps make subtle changes due to upcoming circumstances), so those who don't like non-canoners, no need to fret! I hope you will enjoy reading and if you wish to critique it, by all means do so. Good reading!


	2. Chapter One

(A/N—Well here comes the test as to if canon is in line with that of the true characters of the movie. I hope I have portrayed them to your liking. And thanks to those who reviewed the prologue. Hopefully as the story progresses it will please more readers—not to mention gain more of them as well. So tell your friends!!)

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Chapter One

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Twenty Years Later…

A high pitched scream filled the darkness of the Tortuga Inn. Dim rooms lit up at the noise, with sailors and pirates running out of their rooms—some wearing clothes and some scrambling to get clothes on—to see what could have caused such a scream. 

In a closed door on the second floor the sounds of thumping, stomping, and shattering objects could be heard. Creeping up to the door, the guests as well as their one-night women tried to peek in to see what could be the matter. Abruptly, the door was flung open, sending the Peeping Toms backward to get out of any harm's way. 

"Get out, you pig!" screamed the voice of a woman, followed by a jar flung through the doorway, breaking down the hall. 

Next to come out was a stumbling figure clutching his belongings…and his hat. His double-pointed beard was mangled, sticky with dried rum, and his vest and trousers stained. Stopping a few feet from the door, the man swiveled. 

"T'was only an expeer'ment, luv!" slurred a rather drunk Captain Jack Sparrow. "Meant no offence--"

"OUT!" shouted the prostitute, this time throwing his pistol at him, pegging him on the forehead. 

Jack stumbled backward and fell on his rear end. His empty gaze wandered, and he finally noticed the crowd of onlookers, some snickering, and some angry for the disruption of their nightly affairs. He merely shrugged and, picking up his pistol and sliding into his sash, commented, "She 'parently doesn't like to 'ave a good time…"

After several failed attempts to climb to his feet, Jack managed to accomplish the feat. Slipping on his hat, he gazed around, from floor, person, ceiling, person, and another flying object. Were he erect at full height, he would have been smacked in the face with a mirror, but his talents of ambiguously swerving saved him of further pain. 

Rushing up to the door the woman slammed it with a "Hmph!" The Captain yelled through the door, "I hope m' shillings for the night pay for th' trinkets you're givin' me out here!" With that, he spun around and did his best to walk downstairs and out the door.

**

Not many were out on the streets this early in the morning, since most were either too drunk to stay awake or occupied with a female guest to their rooms. Jack Sparrow was not drunk enough to have passed out, and womanless…again. So, having nothing to occupy his time—not to mention being kicked out of his own room—he decided for a stroll. Meandering through the alleyways and streets, the pirate had no where in particular to go. With his wallet emptied from several pints of rum and his failed experiment with his lady friend, he could not afford anything else to do, at least for the time being. 

With his mind wandering as much as his feet, Jack failed to notice the empty crate lying in his path. He went from gazing at the sky to staring at the dirt. Spitting out some sand and giving the ground some kindly words, he pushed himself up to his knees, only to come into view with a pair of legs right in front of him.

"A bit late for a stroll through the town, isn't it, Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain, mate. _Captain_ Jack--" he stopped himself as he recognized the voice, one he had not heard in a long time. Lifting his head to see the person in front of him, his face nearly hit Will Turner's extended hand. 

The sword smith wore red silk and linen, a broad overcoat, breeches revealing his stockings, and the annoying hat he remembered him wearing the last time they were together. Despite this, a broad and well golden smile came across Jack's face as he grabbed his old friend's helping hand, pulling him to his feet, "Well well, if it isn't ol' Bill's pride 'n' joy, Bill!"

"William, Jack. William."

"Ah…right. William. But your strappin' face just screams 'Bill!'", he said spreading out his hand as if he could picture it a reality, "But who 'm I to complain?" Jack paused, trying to clear up his head of the alcohol still flowing into it. "By the way, how _did_ you manage to come 'ere? I thought you would've been tied down to that Miss Crane to go anywhere…"

"That's _Swann_, if you don't mind!" shouted a rather ruffled Elizabeth Swann from behind Will. Instead of a the normal dress attire the captain was used to seeing, the young woman stormed up in men's trousers and a shirt with the ends tied around the front of her stomach. This was a rather large and surprising change for him.

Jack was rather surprised at the two's unexpected appearance, but the drink in his blood gave him the talent of sliding it off, "Apologies, lass," he said as he took off his hat and bowed low, nearly toppling over again. "Now, what would a smith and a…" he took another glance over Elizabeth's new attire, "…lady such as yourself be doin' out 'ere in No Lubber's Land?"

Will took off his hat—which relieved Jack greatly—and answered, giving a smile to Elizabeth, "Well, it's about…_us._"

Jack looked pained, "'Ave I pained you _that_ much? Well if you want to call it quits, mate, why bother showin' up? Could've stayed home and let our friendship melt away on its own, savvy?"

"He means _us_, idiot," snapped Elizabeth, who grabbed Will's arm and held tightly. Red flushed over his face as she held to him.

Again, Jack seemed hurt, "You don't mean that you two're callin' it off? How sad." He took off his hat and held it at his heart, a look of pity on his face at the two.

Silence.

Were Will's arm not intertwined with Elizabeth's, he wouldn't have been able to hold her back in her fury. She tried reaching with her fingers at Jack's smiling face, and it took several moments before Will was capable of calming her down. 

"Were you not my friend, Jack Sparrow," Will said, failing to indicate Jack's status of Captain once more (intentionally), "I don't believe I would have restrained her. She and I are to be wed in two weeks."

Jack's smile still remained on his face, "I would've never guessed, mate," he said sarcastically. He slapped his hand on Will's shoulder, which brought out a slight wince. "Congrats to the both of you! Let's drink to celebrate!" he shouted spinning around to go back to the tavern.

"Let's not," commented Elizabeth, "I think you've 'celebrated' enough tonight, by the look...and smell of you."

Jack stopped, back still turned, "Excuse me, lass? _Not_ celebrate? But rum is an essensenntial tool for livin'."

"No, it's an 'essensenntial' tool for getting drunk. Now are you going to accept our proposal for being the best man, or are you going to go get even more drunk? _If that's even possible…_"

"Ev'rythin's possible, dearie." Jack stopped and stared a bit, "Did you say…best man?"

"Not my idea, mind you. It was Will's."

Jack turned to Will, his hand over his heart, "Mate, I'm touched. But, alas, it seems that you left out one small fact…," he pointed to himself, "Pirate. Wanted. Alive or preferably dead. No way I'll be a best man (as much as I want to, mate), 'for instead of me givin' you a ring, I'll be given a nice, new necktie," he held one had to his neck and lifted one in the air, making it seem like he was hanging himself with an invisible noose.

Will smiled, "It's a private wedding. We'll be having it at a small island off of the southern coast of Hispaniola. No one save her father knows the location of the island, and he gave his word about keeping it secret. However, he has no idea that you're to be part of this wedding, or that you're even attending."

"Well, I s'pose that changes things, eh?" Jack seemed to be thinking it over, "There…_will_ be rum, right?"

"Of course," replied Will.

"Then count me in! Glad I can be of service." He took another bow.


	3. Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

Through the dense fog of the night, a fisherman's skiff could be seen drifting along the gentle waves. Sitting in the boat sat two elderly men, quietly talking to one another while waiting for their small fishnet to grace them with enough fish for the next day. Just a mile or so out off of St. Catalina island, they need not worry about getting lost.

"Well, Joseph, should we call it a night? These ol' bones need to find their way to bed," Quist questioned, stretching and scratching his back.

"I couldn't agree with ye more," yawned Joseph, grabbing one side of the net, "Just be prayin' tha' the Lord blessed us with some good fish, rather 'an the guppies we're usually hoist'n up." The two began hauling up the net, slowly pulling it in foot by foot. 

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Ding…ding…

"What was that? A ship's bell?" asked Quist, stopping his chore and perking his head up. 

"I ain't heard nothing', just keep pullin'."

Quist listened for a bit longer, shrugged, then began to hoist up the net again.

__

Ding…ding…

"There it is again!" exclaimed Quist, practically dropping his side of the net, "Why would a ship be out here? There ain't no main port around for miles…"

"Just a sentry p'trollin' the coast…and pick up yer line, its heavy tonight. I think there be quite a load this time! Pull hard, mate!"

They grabbed the net and began pulling in eagerness, awaiting the night's catch.

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Ding…ding…ding…

This time, Joseph spoke up, "Heh…sounds like it ain't but a hundred yards er so." He chuckled as he said jokingly, "Perhaps we can 'ail 'em 'n' see if they could lend us a hand with these fish."

Quist wasn' laughing though, "Shouldn't there be some kind of warn'n light, lettin' other boats see it in th' fog?"

"Why do you think they're ringin' that bloody bell for, twit? Ta let us know they're there," Joseph shook his head, "Ye know nothin' 'bout ship protocol, do ye? Guess not…considerin' ye weren't a sailor…"

"Perhaps…but I still think they should have a light. It'd be the smart thing to…do…," the old man's voice dropped to a whisper and his side of the net dropped completely.

"Hey! Fool! What do ye think yer doin'?" Joseph demanded, turning to face his friend. What he saw was a man who seemed to have frozen in place, and would have believed so were it not for Quist's wrists and hands shaking.

"Quist?"

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Ding…ding…

One of Quist's shaking arms slowly straightened out toward the clearing sky, a long, bony finger pointing to the moon, "It..it's grey, Joseph. The moon…it's grey."

Joseph turned to look skyward. Sure enough, the moon, rather than its brilliant yellow blaze, was a deathly pale grey, as if no color were to it at all, "Th-That means…,"he whispered, looking around, trying to see anything through the fog.

His friend looked down to him, his stare wide and frightened, "The _Herald…_it's here-- "

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Ding!…Ding!…

They both whipped around as fast as elderly men could. An opaque, green aura seemed to grow in size and brightness. The fog slowly began to part…

"Row, Quist…," whispered Joseph, his quiet voice cracking in fear, "Row!"

They both began to pull out their oars. As they dipped them in the water, the wind seemed to be sucked, not blown, toward the parting fog. In that instant, a brilliant burst of green light parted the mist. Blinding the two men for a moment, they shielded their eyes, Quist letting out a quiet yelp of fear. They soon regained their sight and for the last brief moments of their life, they wish they hadn't, for what they saw was the bow of a ninety-gun ship, garmented in a green light, rushing straight at them.

**

Thunder cracked as the sky filled with storm clouds. The small town of Gualiondo, a few miles north of St. Catalina island, was sleepless. Especially within one small fisherman's house…

"_Abuela! Abuela_!" yelled little Rosa as she ran up to her grandmother. The child's seven year old arms clasped around Margarita's waist.

"Hush, hush, child…there is nothing to be frightened of. It is only thunder."

"But I'm scared…and grandpapa hasn't come back yet."

"It's alright, Rosa, he is out fishing with Joseph, so he is in safe hands with a skilled sailor. Besides," she spoke as she slowly knelt down to look her grandchild in the face, "they know to come back during a storm, so any minute _su abuelo_ will be coming in through that door."

The smile and soothing voice of Margarita calmed down the child a little, and her grip loosened. Suddenly, Rosa's eyes brightened, "_Por favor!_ May I go out to watch them come home? I'll come back before it starts raining…please, grandmamma! I'll be careful!"

Her grandmother smiled again and ruffled Rosa's hair, "Well, okay. You may go. But! The first drop you feel hit your head…rush right back."

"Yay! Oh _gracias_!" thanked Rosa as she rushed through the door and down to the beach in the back.

The sand kicked up in clumps behind her as she ran up to the shoreline. She ran until the waves lapped onto her feet, and she stopped and peered out into the darkness. The fog had not yet fully lifted, but it was clearing, so she could only see a few hundred feet out into the water. She listened with eagerness for the splashes of oars, a sound she knew well as she always ran to meet her grandpapa, Quist. What she heard, though, was not the splashing of oars.

__

Ding…ding…

She had not heard the fog bell of a ship before, although she could tell it was one from the stories "uncle" Joseph would tell her. The mud seeped between her toes as she stood on them, thinking that would help her see past the fog. To no avail, however.

It was then she felt it. The air around her seemed to suck past her, toward the sea. The fog began to dissipate and part, and she thought she could see a pale light coming from the waves. A green light.

She gasped.

Right along the shore, appearing from nowhere, a massive ship with a green aura floated past her, not but a hundred feet away. The coast was shallow (Rosa knew this), and any ship of that size would have gotten stuck two hundred more feet out. But as the girl looked closer, the ship made no wake of water behind it. But wait! It was making a wake…or more like a trail, but she could not see what it was in the darkness. 

What is it?, she thought. As any other person would have ran terrified, Rosa stood in awe and an interest in what she saw. The ship had three levels of cannons, and five large masts. Upon the highest mast, a torn flag of Great Britain flew. She gazed lower to the deck. 

Her eyes widened as she could make out a lone figure standing along her starboard rail. It was of a man garbed in the tattered uniform of a Captain. Arms crossed, he stood erect, as if proud of his massive vessel. His entire body seemed to glow green, but she could tell--even at a hundred feet away--that his piercing eyes were blue, for they stared right at her. Although he wasn't near enough for a close examination, she should have been able to see his face. However, she could not make it out, for one moment, it seemed like that of a man, but the next it seemed to be a skull, then back to that of flesh.

She rubbed her eyes and looked out again. There was nothing. No ship, no fog…nothing. 

Rain started to fall. Suddenly Rosa felt dizzy. Trying to keep consciousness, she wobbled and began to move back to home. She took a few steps, but darkness took over and she collapsed onto the sand.

**

Rosa awoke in her bed, the sun pouring into her window. Dazed for a few moments, she looked around to see where she was. Suddenly remembering last night's event, she threw her covers aside and jumped off of her bed. 

Rushing out of the door in her pajamas, she ran to the beach. There, she could see most of the village gathered at the shoreline, including her grandmother. Excited to tell her of the strange green ship and man on it, she yelled all the way to the crowd. 

She slowed down her pace as she neared, half expecting Margarita to scold her at first sight. Instead, her grandmother stood there weeping, as was most others around them.

"Grandmamma? What's wrong?"

No answer. None was needed, because she too looked out to the shore. There lay a skiff, broken in two. Its net was full of fish, still flopping and jumping for their freedom. No bodies where anywhere, however. Her gaze moved further out to see. A hundred feet out, as if just poured there, was a thick and dark wake of blood.

A/N-- Creepy, huh? Anyway, I hope this would help with the mood of the story. Note that I didn't say _lighten_ the mood…just help it ;). Again, I hope you enjoyed.


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